Leaving the Beach (and Its Deadly Creatures) Behind

Since arriving in New Orleans three weeks ago, Choppy and I have spent nearly the entire trip within about an hour of the Gulf of Mexico. Today, we left the (sometimes) warm and sunny beaches behind for places where the sand is not bordered by an ocean, but is very much part of the desert.

Our last stop on the ocean: Padre Island, Texas. Choppy was probably not supposed to be up on the sign. But had someone taken my picture with it, I would have jumped up there as well. Seriously, if you make a perfect place to sit on a sign, people are going to use it for that task.

Before we get to the desert, though, we’re going to spend a few more days in Texas, seeing some random sights, going back to camping for a couple days (though it is still far too cold to be camping, at least the sun is setting at a later hour. OK, later half hour. But still, it’s much more pleasant for the sun to set around 6 than to deal with a sun that sets at 5:30).

Back to today, though. As noted below the picture, our last stop on the ocean was Padre Island. Not the South Padre Island of spring break lore, but the barrier island to the north, where you can do things that amuse me to no end, like drive down the beach for miles and potentially get yourself stuck in a drift (note: I did not do this, thankfully. The amusing part of that is the driving on the beach, not the getting stuck part. Though really, I would prefer being stuck in a sand dune to a snow drift. At least with the sand, you are at the beach).

My first stop at the beach was the Visitor Center, where I perused information on the natural flora and fauna of the island, such as sea turtles and rattlesnakes (because heaven forbid there be somewhere I visit that doesn’t have deadly creatures lurking in the grass and/or breaking the window out of my car). Now, the apparent presence of few deadly creatures at Padre Island was heartening to me. I really should have known there would be something I was missing.

As I went to the Visitor Center desk to check with the couple working the desk, I noticed the nice television display of potentially useful information about the park. For example, the road/beach conditions today were “poor” (though when your road is a beach, that’s probably a relative statement because, obviously, your road is a beach and that is, by any standard, very cool and not really all that bad no matter how poor the conditions are). There were also sunrise and sunset times, tide information, opening and closing information, the weather, etc..

And, last but not least, there was the Portuguese Man o’ War level. Now, first, I am not sure I want to be at a beach that has so many Portuguese Man o’ Wars that there is a reserved spot for them on the television display of useful information. Second, I am not sure I want to be at a beach that not only has a spot for them amongst the useful information, but where today is listed as a day where the Portuguese Man o’ War danger is “Extreme.” Not cool. Not cool at all.

Also? The warning was not kidding. There were dead or dying Portuguese Man o’ War all over the beach. So many that I considered putting on my sandals to walk (I didn’t. That’s me, living bravely by going barefoot on the beach). Happily, they were of a bright blue similar to the curtains at last night’s hotel room, so they were easy to spot and avoid.

A washed up Portuguese Man o’ War. He had many Portuguese Man o’ War buddies along the sea. Choppy seemed to think they were to smell and potentially roll in. I kept her from doing either (the latter more successfully than the former, which was probably the better one to keep her from doing).

Having successfully avoided being stung by any Portuguese Man o’ War, eaten lunch and taken a walk by the sea, Choppy and I said good-bye to the Gulf of Mexico, and headed out of the park. On the way, I made a quick stop to use the restroom at the Visitor Center. As I started the car to leave, however, I noted what seemed to be the sound of a helicopter descending nearby. Having spent a week off of the air base in Pensacola recently, I didn’t really think that a helicopter would be landing nearby; it was probably just practicing some random maneuver.

And then, a helicopter landed in the parking lot, just a few rows down from me.

Picture proof of the random helicopter landed in the parking lot at the Padre Island Visitor Center. I now have something to think about when I park my car in the far reaches of a parking lot, because, seriously, a helicopter rotor probably does a lot bigger number on your car than when your car door is slammed into by the rude person parked next to you opening his or her door too fast.

While I like to believe the helicopter was jetting someone around to scout movie locations or do something else fun and exciting, I get the feeling that it is actually the park’s helicopter, probably used to get rangers from one end of the park to the other, particularly because it is something like 70 miles long, and only accessible via the beach road. Still, it’s not every day that you get to see something like that land a few feet from where you are sitting in the car, trying to find something on the radio that is worthwhile to listen to.

Choppy, meanwhile, hardly gave the helicopter a second glance, which suggests her weeks on the road are making her the sort of jaded traveler who can no longer be shocked by even the most unexpected of events.

And thus, with a helicopter landing to send us off, Choppy and I headed inland. We are going to spend a couple days freezing in the hill country around Austin while camping, where I hope that warm weather finds us before we head to the Southwest.